The meeting with that world leader to hammer out a deal that would put things back into peace territory was hush hush, so much so that the rest of us would never have known it if we weren’t working for the Watchers.
But that doesn’t make sense either, because logically, if some world leader was going to come after Nick, it would be a very well-planned assassination, not some sloppy as fuck job that puts us all on high alert.
Also, why come after a bodyguard and not the senator? We’ve been on alert ever since, keeping in close contact with the senator, the CIA, and the DHS—and there’s just nothing there to support that theory.
No, whatever this was, it must have been something from the past, and that’s what I’ve been focusing on lately. Looking into the assholes we came up against in our days as soldiers—just more spooks in fatigues if you want the honest truth.
Still, nothing. Most of the dirt bags we went after are dead or in prison, and a very few that we never got close enough to—to have the chance to bring them to Uncle Sam’s doorstep—are either dead already or in so deep they’re spooks themselves.
That aspect of it made me sit up and pay attention, and I’ve been compiling a list and looking into that side of things for the last few weeks, using my contacts to get any info they can.
Still nothing though.
“King!”
I shake myself and refocus on Lex, shelving my thoughts for another time, as the man grinds his teeth and glares at me.
“She called off the wedding.”
Do not grin or feel happy asshole, this isn’t your opening, I warn myself, though God knows just hearing those words makes my chest so light I have to fight the urge to fist pump the air and beat my chest.
“Don’t look too happy yet, fucker, the question is—”
“Why?”
Chapter Four
Kinsley
The phone rings off the hook for the sixth time since I rolled out of bed this morning. I stare at it in wonder as I sip at my coffee and pull the file closer, not bothering to even acknowledge when it stops until my cell starts blasting away again.
Today is Saturday, my day of rest since I called the wedding off just last week, and I’m up to my eyeballs in stress, something that isn’t good for me since my newly emancipated ass started getting into the nitty gritty of just how much trouble I’m in.
After Jon left and I stopped crying, I pulled myself back together and went to the police. I’m not exactly thrilled to say this since admitting to it makes me feel like a total ass, but pressing charges against Jon for theft was the stupidest idea I ever had.
First of all, we had joint accounts, which basically means that Jon—that piece of fat person’s navel lint—has no reason to worry because as far as they’re all concerned, he took his own money since I gave him access to all of mine.
The second problem? I’m sitting here calculating almost six thousand dollars’ worth of debt that is all in my name since I insisted on it when I bought the house.
Gas, electric, phone, and then some other bills that amount to about two thousand and some odd dollars’ worth of freaking porn. Porn! Honestly, as if I haven’t been handed my own ass already, I now have to pay for Jon’s watching of some very perverted porn that just makes my skin crawl reading the titles.
So yeah, uh-huh, I’m pretty screwed here because not one cent of the money he jacked from me went to a bill—not one cent.
I am officially broke. Me, Kinsley Jacobs, the woman who balances her checkbook easily because I use a different color pen for different categories when filling out checks is broke.
I’m in debt. I have no money, and I still owe the fucking caterers the deposit on the extra lobster because Jon’s mom is a filthy pig who can’t control herself!
“Not nice, Kinsley,” I mutter, as I pull the calculator closer to my elbow and start again at the beginning, praying that somehow the total will be different by at least a few thousand dollars this time. Hell, I’d settle for a hundred bucks less at this point since that could be the difference in whether people come in to repo my things.
I spend all day going over and over it, again and again, not eating, not moving but to refill my mug or grab a glass of water and aspirin. By eight that night, I’m in physical pain as my back protests and finally gets me moving.
I’ve been through everything in that office. All the bills are stacked neatly and color-coded at my elbow, and my laptop is staring back at me with the same spreadsheet.
I’m screwed, and I know it. I have two options right now. Call Daddy and confess the real reason I called off the wedding and accept his help, which I know he’ll give.
Or, I could keep quiet and somehow try to crawl out of this mire under my own steam. As it is, Daddy gave me so much money for the wedding that I should have had at least half of it left still, which I did until after Jon’s mom got her hooks into my big day.
I can’t go to him for help; I just can’t.
That’s when true reality sets in for me and I sink to the floor in the kitchen, my eyes burning with the need to cry again. All this time and effort, and all the plans I had are just gone in one fell swoop.
I could have dealt with losing Jon, since the love I feel for him is more of a lukewarm simmer than a hot, passionate love. I could deal with the embarrassment of calling off the wedding too, and just flip everyone the bird as I re-evaluate and plan the best way to get married before twenty-six, my plans back on track.
What I can’t deal with is having it all ripped out from under me all at once. I have no money, something I have never experienced before, and the panic that’s clawing at me at just the thought of what I can’t do is almost debilitating. I have some food, but that will only last so long. I have some gas in the car, having filled it last week, but that won’t get me very far what with going out to see clients and…
And it’s all just chaos.
The old feelings start to bubble to the surface so fast I gasp with the force of it and fall back into the cabinets behind me, my knees coming up to my chest as the tears start to fall.
I don’t cry. I never cry, because it’s stupid and useless to let emotions rule me when logic always wins the day. I have no alternative though, because the harder I try to stop the sobs, the more they come, pushing forth in large puffs of pain and anger.
I should have listened to Mama and Daddy and, oh God, Lex, that smug bastard is going to be insufferable to live with when he finds out that my fiancé robbed me blind.
I’m still crying, not even bothering to try to stop when the lights go out a little while later.
“Great! Just fucking great. Thanks, Jon, you toad-screwing little newt,” I mutter, rising slowly.
Inching my way upstairs takes a while, but I manage to get to the bedroom with only a stubbed toe minutes later. I’m exhausted, emotionally strung out, and I just want to fall into bed and sleep and pretend for a little while that everything I’ve been working toward for the last four years isn’t all gone.
Stripping down to just my panties and the button-up plaid shirt Lex bought me years ago, I fall into bed with a groan and blank my mind like Doc Truman taught me to do years ago.
Breathe in, out, slowly. Center yourself and just let it all fade. Think of nothing. Just clear your mind and let the peace of the silence hum through you.
It takes a while as I lie alone in the dark, my eyelids drifting downward slowly, but I manage to get a grip and relax to the point that running for the medicine cabinet isn’t at the top of my list.
The medicine would just knock me out anyway, and I don’t want that right now. No, I want to sleep without waking up feeling as if an elephant tried to bang my skull to death.
Oh, Lex, you were so right, I think, my breathing slowing, hitching a little as I force my eyes to drift closed with a sigh.
I’m almost out, just in that place between sleep and wakefulness where I’m sluggish yet still somewhat conscious, when I hear a creak, as something heavy tou
ches on the creaky third step up the stairs.
I’ve tried for years, ever since moving here, to fix the thing, even replacing the entire tread but nothing works on that damn step. I shake myself to full wakefulness and open my heavy eyes just as it comes again, letting me know that the second step from the top has been stepped on.
Panic sets in then because I just know someone is in the house, and with the lights completely out, I’m stuck in the dark and trapped in my bedroom, since the only way out would be to pass through the hallway leading to the stairs.
Calm. Stop. Breathe. Think.
Lex’s harsh words start barking their way into my brain just as I slide out of the bed silently, coming down in a crouch when one heavy step alerts me to someone just outside my door.
Oh God, there’s nowhere for me to go, I think, my nerves jumping violently when the door handle starts descending slowly, my eyes adjusted enough to see it being depressed.
I almost scream when the door starts to swing open on silent hinges and just stop myself as I crawl toward the bedside table, wedging myself into the little space behind it with difficulty.
My breathing is loud in the room, oh so loud, and I shove my hand over my mouth and close my eyes to stop the whimpers struggling to break free when someone bumps into the table. The loud swish of the covers tells me all I need to know.
“Goddammit, the little bitch ain’t here.”
The harsh snarl has me tensing so hard it hurts when I can’t stop myself from shaking. It’s like a jackhammer pounding into concrete, I think hysterically when my muscles start screaming with the need to move, run, do something.
I hear crashing, the shattering of glass, stomping feet and cursing as they start searching the house for me, breaking everything in their path. I almost scream when the lamp on the bedside table is ripped off and tossed into the wall as someone yells violently.
“Search the basement for fuck’s sake. She has to be here somewhere; the bed was still warm.”
God. Oh God.
I withhold another scream when the table rocks into my back and bite into my hand so hard I taste blood, but I stay right where I am as the noise and search continues, my mind blank but for the urgent yelling inside my head to escape.
It feels like hours before the breaking stops, and I feel myself relax a smidgen just before a harsh kick lands on the table, hitting me so hard I can’t stop the oomph of pain that puffs out.
“Here! Put your gun away, fucktard. He wants her alive.”
I don’t hear the rest of it because I’m screaming as a hand grasps my hair and yanks, pulling me up, straight off my feet. Kicking and clawing, I do everything I can to free myself but the hand just tightens so hard that I feel tears blur my eyes when fear sets in.
“No!”
A hard cuff to the side of the head has me blinking to stay conscious, but fear and the absolute knowledge that I won’t live if I don’t get away keeps me strong enough to land a blow when my foot rears back.
A bellow almost deafens me, and I fall to the floor with a yell, rolling just as a beefy shadow rushes me.
There’s only one way out of here, one terrible way, but I don’t hesitate as I leap up and charge, grabbing the man coming at me. I surprise him, that’s the only reason I can think that it works, when I grab his shirt and push off of the floor with all my might, sending us both through the window.
Glass shatters and splinters, but I curl as tightly as I can, protecting myself with the body in front of me as the sickening sensations of being airborne makes my stomach dip horribly.
This is going to hurt, no doubt about that, but it sure beats whatever the heck else was coming at me, I think hysterically, as I curl further and plant my feet into a large chest, letting go of his shirt seconds before impact.
My legs jolt and protest the force, but I counter the way Lex once taught me and roll just as we hit, letting the momentum take the jolt. The grass is cold and slightly wet against my unprotected skin when I roll, my body stunned as I come to a stop and take in my condition.
I hurt, no doubt about that, and my ankle isn’t too happy with me at the moment, but I ignore that pain and roll to my feet immediately, taking off for the Malcolm’s place at a dead run.
Part of me is horrified, confused, and completely unaccepting of what just happened, maybe believing that I’m in the midst of a nightmare. I keep running though, hopping a little on the uneven paving before falling into the door and pounding so hard my hands ache.
When the porch light comes on, I collapse into Joan Malcolm’s arms with one word on my lips.
“King.”
Chapter Five
King
The loud pounding at my door is so insistent I roll out from beneath the pillow shoved over my head and snarl my disgust against the intrusion. I haven’t slept for shit all fucking night thanks to Kinsley and her insistent phone calls, calls I ignored stalwartly and so effectively that she finally stopped calling somewhere around ten yesterday morning.
I can’t talk to her right now, not till I get myself in control and have the self-assurance that I won’t do something we’ll both regret should I ever hear that husky voice needing me again.
I heard it that day in the car, before she canceled her wedding and have heard it in my dreams ever since, pleading with me to save her from the shit heap her life has become.
And okay, maybe a large part of me is also terrified that little Miss Priss is calling me now because she’s at loose ends and wanting to rebound with the bad boy, just as most women tend to do when they feel the need to prove to themselves that they’re okay and not hurting from another man.
I’ve been there once before, and I won’t do that shit again, not and keep my self-respect so no fucking thanks. Whatever Kinsley wants or thinks she wants is not my problem. And neither is her brother if that happens to be one of the reasons she’s looking for me.
Lex has been a bear to live with the last few days, and fuck me if he hasn’t picked fights with all of us when his little sister refused to answer her phone or return his texts, emails, and voicemails.
I don’t need any of this shit now, not after getting a call from one of my contacts at DHS and getting some intel that may or may not be an actual lead. I want to know who hired the fucks that shot at my family, and I will find out no matter what.
That means no thinking about a blue-eyed, brown-haired, little control freak, who just happens to make my dick hard with nothing more than the sound of her sweet voice.
That banging starts up again, this time not seeming to let up. I roll toward the door with a growl, not bothering to grab my pants as I stalk toward the door with a curse.
“Lex, I will fucking kill you—”
I rip the door open and freeze, my tongue damn near rolling back into my throat when I glare down only to see blue eyes staring back up at me. Blue eyes set in a face that just moments ago was giving me the best fucking head I have ever had in my life, if only in my dream.
Kinsley Jacobs is glaring back at me, her little mouth pursing in displeasure. That look is so Kinsley that I want to laugh and only just stop myself when her composure breaks for the barest second, showing me her nervous fear and outright discomfort.
Something’s wrong, really wrong for Kinsley to be here, since the last time I saw her she warned me that it would never happen again. That prompts me to refocus and really look at her, and what I see is not good.
She’s wearing a lot of makeup, so much she looks like she dove into the stuff, but it isn’t quite enough to hide the slight bruise on her left cheekbone.
Her arms where her sleeves ride up a little are covered in a bandage, the bulk visible through the fabric and her ankle, when I look down, is sporting a boot, one of those things you see on someone who has been injured.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
Smooth, real smooth, King, I snarl silently when I look down at the gray boot and spy her pink little toenails peeking out.
&
nbsp; Kinsley swallows and fidgets around a little before breathing deeply and looking up to meet my eyes, her own so tired and weary I feel like an asshole for not asking her in immediately.
“Someone broke into my house and tried to grab me. Can I come in? Please? It’s been a long trip what with my ankle all busted up, and I’ve had just about enough of the cops to last my whole life. No offense!” she yells down the stairs, making me aware of the uniformed officer standing at the bottom beside Josh.
“Yeah. Come in,” I mutter.
My apartment, the one I took over above Jericho’s bar, is a mess. Clothes are strewn over every surface where I dropped them, empty beer cans and old pizza boxes adorn the coffee table, and the couch has a coffee stain on it from a few days ago when I fell asleep reading intel and dropped the full mug beside me.
Kinsley takes it all in with a glance and sighs loudly before grabbing the suitcase I hadn’t noticed behind her and walking in.
“Thanks, Carl!”
“Welcome, Jacobs! You take care now, ya hear?”
I close the door before he can say another word, and from the stars in that idiot’s eyes, I just know he was about to break out in an ode or some shit. I watch Kinsley hobble to the couch and fall onto it, her grimace in no way hidden as she shoves a dirty pair of boxers to the floor.
“Not to be a prick, but what the heck are you doing here, and what the hell do you mean someone broke into your place?”
I’m pissed off, trying to hide a very inappropriate boner, and blushing with shame as I stomp into my bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans before walking back into the living room where she’s still sitting, looking so small that I swear to God, I will annihilate the asshole who did this to her.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Ex-fiancé and no. I woke up the night before last with someone creeping up my stairs and just managed to get away from them by pulling a body pillow on some guy.”
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 48